


Sweet Child of Innocence

by angelsandbrowncoats



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abusive Friendship, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Diary/Journal, FACE Family, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Might get dark idk, Multi, POV First Person, Running Away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Diary of a Twice Adopted Canadian Boy.</p><p>By Matthew Williams</p><p>This is the story of me, and how I came to have two non-biological families. Well, my brother is biologically related, but apart from that...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. July 5th, 2007

**Author's Note:**

> I must apologise beforehand for inevitable ooc-ness because I'm very new to the fandom. Also I'm probably going to screw up their accents. Still, I hope you enjoy it. (And yes, this was inspired by the Kansas song, Sweet Child of Innocence. It's a good song, you should listen to it)
> 
> Also, the chapters are all relatively short until chapter 7.

Hey, so, um, my name is Matthew Kirkland-Bonnefoy. I'm ten. I got this diary for my birthday yesterday. My twin got one too. He's already filled his half-full with pictures: himself, his friends, him with his friends, more of himself, the two of us, a few of the whole family, and even a couple of me. That's kind of nice, considering no one outside my own family can remember who I am, so its always good to know someone remembers you.

I'm much better with writing words than I am with saying them, something that Al and I have reversed. Al's my twin brother by the way. He's loud and annoying, but he doesn't mean to be.

I said people forget me all the time, right? Well it's worse than that: I have perfect memory, meaning I have no choice but to remember absolutely everything that's ever happened to me. It can be good-I have a bigger vocabulary, even though I don't like to use it, 'cause people will mock me. But there's nothing worse than recognizing every single person you've ever met, when not a single one of them can do that in return.

I'm glad I can record all the stuff that happens to me. It'll be nice.


	2. November 18th, 2014

Right, well, that clearly never happened. Matthew here, again. Yeah, so I literally just found this thing like an hour ago when I was cleaning my room. I've been thinking of writing a journal and all, only I didn't want to bring it up. I'll get to that later.

I completely forgot I had this! It's really kind of neat, and now I actually think I need to use one, for my own sake. Yes, I do still have perfect memory, but that doesn't mean I can't shove some memories into the dark closet in my mind. There's only so much I can consciously think about at once.

Speaking of perfect memory, that's gonna help me write in here. I can write a full first-person account of each day if I want to, without it being all weird and stuff.

But first let me explain my current situation. So most people still forget me, although now there is one kid outside of the family who notices. His name is Carlos, and I guess he's okay. But mostly he's on the scary side. Half the time he just includes me in stuff without asking, which isn't too bad, if a bit irritating. But then the other half the time, he'll think I'm Al and beat me up without listening to reason. Al, Dad, and Papa have no idea about that, and I'd really rather they didn't. Despite everything, he's the closest thing to a friend I've ever had.

Dad and Papa are always fighting, and often Al is too. It's terrible. I'm always scared that they'll hurt each other or something, but when they get like that, they mostly ignore me too. They tell me constantly that it's okay and they don't really mean it, but if they don't mean it, why does it happen so often?

Yeah, well, there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it, eh? I'll write more later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wasn't intending to include Cuba, because almost everything I know about him comes from other fanfics. However, I also originally planned this idea as more of a cosplay-music-video type thing, only I have no friends anywhere near me who cosplay and/or watch Hetalia. So fic it is, which means I convinced myself to expand the plot significantly.


	3. November 27th, 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, as I'm sure you'll pick up, I have a headcanon that Matthew uses excessive profanity and blatantness in his head (almost along the lines of I see him acting like his 2p in his head when he's alone, but it all flies out the window when he actually interacts with people. I'd also say he's more open about his feelings by far). So, some of what he's writing will definitely seem a little ooc. Hopefully I got the dialogue (when I get to that) correct, though.

Maybe I should explain my situation. I'm the younger of two twins, by some minutes. We were both born in Canada on the Fourth of July. We were adopted by an Englishman and a Frenchman living in America. Due to our birthday and the fact that we grew up there, Al considers himself to be American, while I prefer to be called Canadian. I've always loved Canada, so it only makes sense.

Today was American Thanksgiving, a holiday we now celebrate thanks to my dearest brother. Al spent the day making sure we had all the traditional food (cooked himself because Dad can't cook to save his life, and Papa wanted to add a bunch of 'non-traditional' stuff) and watching football (American, I should clarify for my parents' sakes). Dad complained that it wasn't as big a deal as he made it out to be, Al hit him with a spatula, and Papa wouldn't stop arguing about the food. I sat in the corner of the sofa and couldn't decide whether to hide or try and stop them.

They didn't include me in their fighting. They never do. I'm glad. But still, I spent the entire day being basically ignored by the only group of people that ever fucking notices me! It was stressful. As a result, I excused myself at some point during the night (and received no response) to indulge in the one bad habit I have. I mean, it's not too bad! At least not as bad as everyone makes it sound. Weed isn't nearly as harmful as they all say it is, although it would be significantly better if I had a group of friends to go along with it. (no, I DO NOT feel the need to start any other kind of drugs, thank you for asking) I know Dad and Papa would throw a fit if they knew (who am I kidding, so would Al), but it's kinda their fault I use it anyway, so eh, whatever.

Now I'm curled up in my bed with my favourite stuffed animal since I-can't-remember-when. His name is Kumajirou, although I often call him just Kuma because the whole thing is quite a mouthful, and I often screw it up (like _really_ badly) when I'm flustered. He's a polar bear, and while I'm sure he would forget me too, if he were real, he's still comforting after a long day with my family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I made him a stoner. But like he said, weed is made out to be the apocalypse or some shit in school, and while I've never actually used it myself, I don't see it as being too much of a problem. And yeah, I'm not done making poor Mattie's life hell, so I feel he deserves a vice. My apologies if you hold a different opinion, but I'm not changing it.


	4. December 26th, 2014

It's been awhile since I've written a diary entry (yeah, I'm man enough to call it a diary), but that's okay I guess. My days have all been the same. Get up, ignore Alfred's annoying voice on the other side of the foldable wall that splits our room into two, get ready, make and eat pancakes, get ignored all day at school, come home, do homework in that blissful hour that Al has football practice, and then sit back and weather the fighting. Dad is always home after school, because he works the morning shift at this book-and-antique store that is an antique in and of itself. Papa works far more regular hours at his own restaurant, even though he could technically hire people to do all the work. He enjoys cooking too much to stop, though.

Winter Break started a few days ago, though, so I can wake up whenever I want (which, although I like sleeping in, tends to be quite early, thanks to the quiet of everyone else sleeping in) and don't have to put up with school.

There's like, no snow this year, much to my disappointment. And Al's. Al loves snowball fights, and building snowmen, and those stereotypical winter events. Don't get me wrong, I love them too, but winter has always been so much more for me. The cold, the ice, the snow, all of it. We go ice-skating and skiing a lot, thanks to the fact that Dad and Papa can hardly say no when Al and I agree for once. I'm not bragging when I say I'm way better than all of them (although, Al could be better, he just takes some weird pleasure in crashing into the snow). Dad is awful, and Papa keeps trying to get handsy with him, which doesn't help anyone. And yes, even though it's a common occurence in our house, I _still_ get embarrased by the fact that he does that. What teen wouldn't?

But like I said, none of that this year. It's fifty-freaking-degrees fahrenheit (10 degrees celsius, because I am not uncultured like my brother and actually listen when Dad or Papa rant about 'dumb American things') in December. That's so unfair.

Christmas was actually really good this year. Papa prefers Christmas Eve, so we split the gifts half and half between the two days. I got, among other things, a Canadian flag for my wall, some camping gear (I LOVE nature have I told you?), a new pair of ice-skates, and some supplies for my sketches. I sketch a lot, mostly landscapes, but occasionally I'll do people n'stuff too.

I got Al some more of his favourite violent video games, which our parents almost had a fit about. Thankfully, they had vowed not to fight for Christmas (possibly the best of all my presents), and held it back. I gave Dad a TARDIS teapot, because I mean, I had to! He wanted to be mad over the stereotyping, but it's all true, so he couldn't. I got Papa a special-edition gold-leaf version of Les Miserablés, unabridged in the original French. He actually cried. It's days like that when I think maybe, just maybe, the fighting doesn't mean anything like they always say. We know each other so well, so maybe they don't mean it.

But then, it started up again today, and I can't tell anymore.


	5. January 1st, 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at updating.

Well, last night was... something. I went for a walk this morning because the rest of my family is still deep in sleep.

New Years started out really well this year. We had a meal that we all liked, watched some of the events, and even had some fun with confetti. It was when the alcohol came out that things started going downhill.

First, Al insisted he be allowed a glass. Dad and Papa argued with him for a bit, before relenting under the condition that he have only one. Then Dad started to have too many, and that's always dangerous. Dad is a horrible drunk, and everyone knows it. No one knows quite what he'll do, but it won't be good.

This time he started sobbing about none other than Papa. Apparently he wasn't a fan of his work hours, and both Al and I heard (before Papa could remove him from the room, most likely to try and make him go to sleep, as that was the only real cure) that he suspected Papa was having an affair. You can imagine that that put quite a damper on the celebration. Sure, we all know he's a flirt (again, like I said, embarrassing), but we really don't think he'd do that. He's way too obsessed with Dad. Still, he was distracted the rest of the evening, probably trying to come up with a way to prove himself. As awkward as it is, I'm probably way less embarrassed than Al (who can't stand this stuff), so I ended up giving him advice. Mostly I just spewed random stuff. It's not my fault I don't know what to say! I'm seventeen! Not to mention the fact that I've never been in a relationship, considering no one knows I exist.


	6. January 29th, 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am trash who couldn't pick a writing style & used this shitty explanation. But at least the next chapter is like twice the length of the first six.

I'm gonna start writing these differently, more like I said when I started. We had a guy in to talk to our class today, and apparently it's therapeutic to write your own life as a story. So, I guess I'll try that. I really think therapy would be good for me, but what with all the fighting, I don't really want to bring it up. This'll have to do instead.


	7. January 30th, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit finally happens

I woke up to my brother's alarm today. My own was apparently set five minutes later than his, because Al likes to wake up early on Fridays. Not to mention, foldable wall or no foldable wall, one's brother screaming the song 'Friday' at the top of his lungs is enough to wake anyone up. It should also be enough to justify my next action of moving the wall enough to throw a pillow at his head, although he doesn't seem to think so.

Unlike said brother, I made my bed before grabbing some clothes to go get ready for another boring day of school. I sighed at my reflection. Apart from the curl sticking out of my hair that I just couldn't get rid of, and the slight purple color in my eyes, I looked exactly like Alfred. It would have been cool, if not for the fact that the majority of people didn't realize he had a twin. Shaking my head to clear it of the thoughts that had plagued me my whole life, I went downstairs.

Today was one of the days when I wasn't to cook breakfast, apparently. Dad always woke up earliest, considering his work hours, meaning he made himself those insanely dry scones and tea. While I don't mind them, per se, they aren't exactly good either. Papa will either cook or he won't. If he doesn't, I make pancakes and only mildly begrudgingly give some to Al. Today, he did, meaning we had crepes. Delicious, yes, but still not pancakes.

Finally, I grabbed my bag and followed Al out the door. He drove us to the school, because he has some weird idea about vehicles being right-of-passage or something. I don't get it. Sure, driving can be fun and all, but he  _ obsesses  _ over it, so I let him do it.

He said goodbye pretty quickly once he spotted his friends-Kiku and Jett. They sometimes tried to include me(if they saw me, which they sometimes did), but today they disappeared almost immediately. It didn't take me long to see why-Ivan Braginski, scariest kid in the whole fucking school. He was in our class, too, but he was tall and had a terrifying air about him. He had three minions who he bullied into obedience, but he seemed to target Al. There had been a time when he'd noticed me, and had tried to do the same. It was, perhaps, my proudest moment. Last winter was the coldest, snowiest we'd had in ages, and being closely connected to his Russian heritage, he challenged me to a competition. On the thinnest ice he could find, he wanted to race me to the other side. Whoever made it there first won: if he did, I'd become his minion too. If I won, he would stop bothering me. I tried to get Al in the deal (once I realized I had to do it. I wouldn't have agreed at all, but I didn't have much of a choice), but he wouldn't hear of it.

With a worried Al, his three minions (also worried, as they didn't really want to see anyone else have to put up with what they did), and Ivan's two sisters (I guess you could say they too were worried. One for me because she worried for everyone, and one, the crazier of the two, hoping I would win because apparently her brother didn't pay enough attention to her) as witnesses, we began the race. 

We started out pretty close, but it wasn't long before I actually took the lead. He wasn't too happy about it, and tried to cheat by 'accidentally' breaking some of the ice around me. In my best moment, I managed to dodge every crack and stay upright. But I'd slowed enough for him to pass me, and he had a significant gap between us.

He turned around, skating backwards, and said in that creepy childish voice of his something along the lines of, "Get ready to lick my boots, kolkolkol." 

That was when I used a trick I'd learned years ago, allowing me to suddenly shoot forward, past him. It was a risky move, because I fell ninety-percent of the time I used it, but I had to try. No way was I going to be fucking servant or whatever. 

Maybe it was desperation, maybe it was luck, maybe it was skill. I'll never know. But I succeeded, and, barely two seconds before him, I jumped up onto the bank on the other side. He was livid. But, there were witnesses. And he had to admit I was good. He agreed to leave me alone 'for now' and he hasn't bothered me since. But I'm pretty sure he beats up Al.

Leaving the parking lot, I went to my locker, glad there was no one in front of it this time. They never saw me, so it basically meant I couldn't get in. As a result, I carry everything I absolutely need with me at all times.

Not long after, I was in my first class, hoping no one would sit on me (again). Luckily, I was safe, until Carlos plopped into the seat next to me, grinning crazily, "So, how do you feel about stealing the test answers?"

"I... I really don't think that's a good idea," I whispered. Like I said, I can write, but I can't talk.

"Hah, I knew you'd be willing to help me," he continued, not having heard a single word I said. The only good side to his schemes were that I was either never seen or immediately forgotten about. That meant that even when we got in major trouble, I almost never had to actually receive a punishment. Although, if he was punished and I wasn't, he often took that as yet another reason to hit me. I've heard of abusive friendships... I bet this qualifies.

The rest of the day was pretty much like that, with my lunch of leftover crepes being cut short by Carlos dragging me into some room or other. He handed me a box, and I reluctantly started sifting through it, knowing he was doing the same. But then we heard someone coming in, and I panicked. Turning to him to see if he had a plan, I saw he'd already disappeared somewhere. I couldn't see any hiding spots, and just stared in shock as one of the teachers walked into the room. He stared back for a second, before getting angry. He was about to yell at me, when a hand reached out of nowhere and pulled me into a cupboard that had escaped my attention. Carlos clapped a hand over my mouth to stop my exclamation of surprise as we huddled in the cramped location.

"Huh. That's weird. I swear I saw that kid-what's his name-Alfred? In here."

Another teacher's voice joined the first, snorting, "Get your damn coffee. Working with this many teenagers must be causing you to hallucinate. I didn't see anyone."

I sighed. Sure it saved me from trouble, but it was more than a bit depressing to never be noticed as me.

At the end of the day, I went to the parking lot only to find Alfred had already left. He would forget me too, if he was with his friends, so I wasn't surprised. Carlos wrapped an arm around my shoulders in a shockingly friendly way and said, "Hey, wanna go for ice cream? There's a new shop opening not too far from my house."

I'd been to Carlos' house a few times, in an almost-kidnapped style. It wasn't too bad of a place, although the neighborhood was a little shady. At least according to my parents when they found out I'd been there. Not too concerned myself, I nodded in agreement. Hey, what he wanted to this time was actually legal for once! Although it had gotten a lot colder since December, neither of us minded ice cream in the winter.

Nothing particularly eventful happened the whole time I was over there, and he convinced me it was fine to stay late. We played some video games and I mused (silently) at how similar he and Alfred were, despite their apparent hatred of each other.

Around seven I realized it was incredibly dark and no one knew where I was. 

"Um, Carlos, can I use your phone?"

"Hmm? What for?" he was busy killing aliens and was only half listening.

"I have to call my parents to come pick me up. I can't walk home from here, eh?"

He paused the game to look at me, "You can stay over if you want. I don't care."

What was I supposed to say to that?! I blinked, "Well, they-they don't know where I am and are probably worried, is all."

He snorted, "How can you be sure they haven't forgotten you? Face it, I'm the only person who remembers you one-hundred percent of the time!"

I stared at him, torn between believing him and protesting. 

"L-look, i-it's possible that they did f-forget," I stuttered, something I do when I'm really nervous. And I mean, he was scaring me. Had he actually kidnapped me or something? I continued, "But I won't know if I don't call. And I don't want them to worry."

I don't know what happened then, but suddenly Carlos was screaming something at me, fists flying. I cringed back, unsure of what to do. It was dark, cold, and potentially dangerous outside. It was  _ definitely _ dangerous inside. So I did the only thing I could think of-I grabbed his phone and locked myself in his bathroom, before he could get inside.

Papa picked up on the first ring, and I was glad. We understood each other better than Dad or Al. 

"Oui?"

"Papa?"

"Matthieu! Oh Dieu merci! You're okay! Where are you? We have been worried sick! Arthur wants to call the police and your brother is about two seconds away from punching a hole in the wall. What has happened?"

I took a deep breath, ashamed at being relieved that they had remembered me. Of course they had, "I was out with Carlos for a bit, but then it got late, sorry. Only, when I said I wanted to leave, he freaked, and I'm kinda barricaded in his bathroom. I don't know what to do!"

There was a pause on the other side as he took in what I'd just said, "Is this the friend who lives on the bad side of town?"

"I think so."

He sighed audibly, "In that case, I think both Arthur and I should go pick you up. And Al will probably want to come too. Is that okay?"

"Can you see if you could not bring Al? He's likely to try to burn down Carlos' house, and yeah, I don't really want that to happen."

"I can't say I'm not tempted to do it myself, but okay. Do you want me to hang up or stay on?"

"Could you stay on? Please?"

"Of course. We'll be there shortly."

So I waited, trying to ignore Carlos'  _ pleading ? _ through the door. He was acting way more extreme than usual. From what I did hear, though, it seemed as if he thought we were dating. Well that would be news to me. I mean, he looked fine, and if he didn't hit me so much, I might actually like him like that. But in light of this recent near-kidnapping, I'm pretty damn against the idea.

"Matthieu?" I jumped, remembering Papa had not hung up, "We're in front of his house. We managed to give Al the slip, so it's just the two of us."

"Okay."

Then it sounded like he put the phone down, and not long after I heard a knock on the door. Carlos moved away to answer it, and I heard shouting. Suddenly, there were footsteps, and I heard Papa call, "Matthieu?!"

I opened the door, leaving the phone on the countertop, and he rushed towards me, practically dragging me out of the house. I saw (and heard) Dad and Carlos screaming at each other in the kitchen as we passed. I was all but flung into the backseat of the car as he returned to the house. This time he returned dragging Dad along with him, and threw him into the passenger seat as well. Climbing into the driver's seat just as Carlos ran out of the house, intent on stopping us, he locked the doors hastily and drove off. 

Exhausted from whatever had just happened, I fell asleep in the back of the car as they drove home. 

I was wakened by two anxious voices calling my name, one in French and one in English. Stirring, I gazed up at them groggily, realizing we were still in the car.

"Hmm?"

"Oh thank God," Dad exclaimed, "We thought you might be severely hurt when you just passed out."

"I'm a little bruised and scraped, but I'm fine, " I sighed. So much for my only friendship. Among the profanities he'd shouted after us, I'd managed to depict the end of any relationship we'd ever had.

Finishing the short drive home, we were met by Al practically tearing out of the house.

"Mattie?! You okay? Dude, I knew you shouldn't trust that guy!" he'd begun his typical tangent before I'd even gotten out of the car. The second I was out, though, he leapt on me in an exuberant hug, "Want me to beat him for you?"

"No, Al. It's fine. It really is."

He frowned, "If you say so... but still, Matt. You've got to stand up to these people."

I don't know quite what made me say it, probably the loss of my only non-familial friend, but before I could catch myself, I returned, "I will if you stand up to Ivan."

And of course, Dad and Papa overheard me. 

"Who is this Ivan?"

"Umm..." we said at once. Their faces morphed into equally irritated ones, and we soon found ourselves facing each other across the living room.

It took a while, but eventually we filled them in on the whole Ivan problem. They were, in short, furious.

"I've half a mind to have the two of you switch schools..."

Of course, that immediately got a round of protest from Al. I didn't say anything. Not only did I not care, they probably wouldn't hear me anyway. I just ended up going up to my room to write and sleep. I can still hear them.

 


	8. February 4th, 2015

February 4th, 2015

It's only gotten worse. Today when I came downstairs for breakfast, late as the heaps of snow and below-zero temperatures resulted in no school, it was to yet another three-sided shouting match.

About two days after Dad proposed we switch schools, Papa got a letter from his family, requesting that he come work for them in France. They offered everything they had denied him when he'd run away from home to marry Dad (before Dad had even agreed, mind you, but that's just how he is): a five-star restaurant, a mansion, a fortune. They hadn't mentioned Dad, Al, or I. Papa took that to mean they were okay with us all moving there. Dad had a feeling they were trying to get him to leave them there. Al didn't want to leave his friends. I sat back and ate pancakes.

This had been going on for days now, and there was no end in sight. So, I wasn't even remotely surprised at entering the kitchen accompanied by a shout of, "YOUR BLOODY FAMILY CAN KEEP THEIR MONEY, THEY STILL THINK THEY CAN GET YOU TO MARRY SOMEBODY THEY PICK!"

"WELL I KNOW THEM BETTER THAN YOU DO, AND THEY KNOW BETTER THAN THAT. THEY'VE FINALLY MANAGED TO ACCEPT YOU AND YOU CAN'T RETURN THE FAVOR?"

"NOT WHEN THEY SENT YOU A LIST OF ELIGIBLE FRENCH HEIRESSES ON OUR ANNIVERSARY JUST LAST YEAR MAY I REMIND YOU!"

They tried to tone it down when they saw me, Papa even going as far as to whisper, "sorry" as I passed him to get my food. They know how much it bothers me. That's something, I suppose. Al was sitting opposite me when I got my pancakes, fuming silently (for once). I caught him muttering, "But Kiku and Jett are my bros," into his... hamburger? What a weirdo.

We spent basically the entire day playing video games, and it was one of the nicer days I'd had in a while. School was hell now that I was ignored by literally everyone. Al had been too busy whining to Kiku and Jett to include me, so I spent the entire day trying to make sure I wasn't marked absent or knocked over and stepped on.

Truth be told, I was a bit terrified of the prospect of moving myself. I'm not sure I could handle it if it wasn't just this school. What if it never gets better? What if no one in the entire world can notice me? I've been on the bad end of depression before, but I've always stopped short of actually doing anything, because what if there is somebody who could see me? Who could care? I don't even fucking care how they think of me, just so long as they care (and not in the sense that they use my invisibleness and kidnap me, like Carlos. He stopped paying attention to me too, once he realized he couldn't control me or something. I don't know. He's never seemed totally stable to me, so maybe he can't help it? Either way, that's not what I mean).

It's night now, and they're fighting again. I honestly don't know how much more of this I can take.


End file.
